Rough Diamonds
by bookworm52
Summary: Jennifer Uta, a 15-year-old archaeology student at Gressenheller U, sets off for Misthallery with Professor Layton. However, there's trouble brewing there, involving love, friendship, family, and more. Can she solve the mystery before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One – Ignition**

"Are you finished with that puzzle yet, dear?"

Layton took a moment to peer over to where his companion was seated. She was toying with one of Layton's hardest sliding puzzles, sliding the large red block back and forth, back and forth. Much to his amusement, although Jennifer Uta was one of Gressenheller's finest pupils, and one of the professor's favourites at that, she simply could not manage to puzzle through a simple 95-picarat sliding puzzle. Strange.

Frustrated, she set the puzzle down on her lap and looked up at her mentor. His small, button eyes were refocused on the country road. Jennifer's eyes darted around, searching for an adequate place to focus her attention. So, she, much to the man's chagrin, took hold of a small crank located at the foot of the car door and, slowly but surely, began to crank the window down.

If Layton's eyes could widen, they would have. He heard the howl of the wind, threatening to grab hold of him— or worse, the small girl sitting beside him— and whisk them away to kingdom come. It vowed to seize his hat, his most precious possession, and toss it about in the air like so many wretched salads. Or worse, it could sneak inside— oh, great heavens above, the villainy— and buffet against his face, and his entire head could fall off his body! Oh, my, what a fate Jennifer had cast on the poor man! He braced himself for the torture, and…

A refreshing spring breeze carrying the scent of fresh hay wafted in through the window.

"_No!_" Layton howled, abandoning the wheel and reaching over Jennifer to take hold of the crank and frantically turn his wrist counterclockwise.

"Professor, what are you _doing_?" the girl screeched in terror. "Look on the road!"

"Wind it back up!" the professor wailed. "_Wind it back up!_"

As if the wind were responding to his cry, his hat was promptly whisked off his head and softly placed in the middle of a wheat field.

A few minutes later, Jennifer was disappointed to find that, instead of rushing off to a small town to visit a famous archaeological site, she was stuck in the middle of a bed of wheat, searching for Layton's hat while he himself was off sobbing in a corner. However, the man soon returned and, without a word, bent down and rummaged through the grain.

"Professor?" Jennifer asked, after a long pause.

After a hiatus of his own, the professor answered, in a soft voice, "Yes, dear?"

"Where are we going, anyways?"

He looked up at the girl and slowly stood back up, placing his hat gently back onto his head. "Well, Jennifer," he answered, "it is a veritable paradise by the name of the Golden Garden. It is located in the small town of Misthallery, a place of—" here he chuckled to himself— "many canals. If you recall, my young apprentice, Luke, comes from Misthallery."

The student nodded. She had heard much about this small enigmatic boy, whom his mentor loved dearly. Jennifer could still remember the day after their final adventure together, when he went to the man's house and collected any belongings he might have left there. Layton, devastated by his departure, hid in his study throughout the entire process. Even to that day, the scholar kept a photo album in his trunk, and carried it wherever he went. Sometimes, he could have even been seen paging through it, murmuring to the pictures and running his fingers lightly over the fond memories.

"Yes," Layton continued, interrupting the girl's thoughts, "I'm sure this trip will inspire you to finish that paper you've been working on, hm?"

"Right," the girl confirmed, lying through her teeth.

The professor brushed a speck of wheat off his coat, smiled at his pupil, and led the girl back to his precious automobile. Holding the door for her, he helped her inside, then he entered through his side of the vehicle.

The rest of the drive was conducted in silence.

"Just so you know," the boy clarified to the elderly woman before him, "this candy is for Tweeds. It's a reward for him. He hates 'doing the dishes'."

The lady— oh, the foolish old woman— just smiled and crooned, "Oh, well, you say hello to him for me, dear."

He frowned. It was too suspicious. She sold candy right at the mouth of the market; it would be easy for her to gather information about the black market. Judging by the trust the other Ravens had placed in the lady to manufacture her hand-made candy and deliver it right into their greedy hands, he didn't know if they had mistakenly spilled anything to her.

So, he took the bag of candy in his hand and hastened to Marilyn. He demanded a meeting take place.

"Immediately." His voice was cold and stern.

"Yes, Crow," Marilyn rolled her eyes and hopped over her produce. She rushed to all corners of the market, shouting— well, since it was a black market, it was _whispered_,of course— the news to the members. In three minutes flat, they were all backstage, where Crow liked to host all his meetings. It added a certain flair to the already tense, serious atmosphere. A touch of class.

"Ravens," the boy announced, raising his hand to stop the chitchat amongst the gang. "Aunt Taffy."

A barely audible gulp sliced through the silence. It came from Tweeds, a rather chubby boy who always wore a red sweater. He was particularly fond of the old woman… and her candy.

"Tweeds," Socket sighed in exasperation, "what have you done this time?"

The boy's lip trembled slightly. Crow ignored this, and instead continued on to explain his plan. Tweeds _did_ have to salvage what little self-esteem he had left, after all.

"Listen, Ravens. Aunt Taffy. She's been selling candy here since the black market was founded. She _must_ have gathered some intel over the years. She's been clever, selling candy to us, in the hopes that we'd spill something, but we are smart—"

"We are cunning, we are courageous," the Ravens recited, along with hand actions performed in perfect unison, "and our performance is always sound."

Crow frowned. That old chant didn't go over very well anymore. It didn't even rhyme. He would have to create another one.

As if he were reading his mind, Nabby protested, "No more backflips." The leader dismissed that with an absentminded wave of his hand.

"Ravens, watch your words. You're dismissed."

The team dispersed quickly, leaving the boy to contemplate the issue of the new chant. It had to rhyme, and sound good, too.

Rhyme rhymed with time.

Style rhymed with bile.

Orange rhymed with…

Poetry was _not_ his strong suit.

Just then, the two siblings flew through the curtains, both shouting his name frantically.

Crow sighed. "What is it, you two?" After a slight pause, he added, "Did anyone get hurt? If someone did, just tell me who hurt them, and I'll hurt them back." Clenching his jaw, he swore, "And that's a promise I will take to my grave if I must."

Wren assured him, "Crow, that man that saved Misthallery three years ago is back. Do you remember him?"

The leader remembered. Boy, did he remember. He was forever indebted to that man. Because, although the boy never had the courage to admit it, that man had saved his family, the Black Ravens. The Ravens were more than just some club, or a gang. The Ravens were a family. They stuck by each other through everything, closer than brothers—

"More cunning than a wolf, closer than brothers, as black as the night sky!" Crow exclaimed.

The pair's blank faces were all he needed to snap back into focus.

"Right," he answered them. "Is he alone, or is that woman with him?"

They paused. Wren started, "Well, he's not alone, but—"

"—he's with someone we've never seen before!" Socket finished. There was a note of panic in his voice.

The black market leader took a moment to process the thought rationally. He decided, "Socket, Wren, assume position six. I'll see what sleuthing I can do by myself."

"Got it, Crow!" they answered simultaneously, and with equal brightness in their tones. With that, they scampered off.

Crow chuckled as he made his way back upwards. Of course they'd enjoy position six: Aunt Taffy's stand. Tweeds spent too much time there anyways. It was time for a change. Besides, Tweeds was getting fat.

Soon, he saw daylight. He covered his eyes, flinching a bit. He heard a voice… _his_ voice.

"Now, Jennifer," he was saying. "We mustn't complain. This market is quite dear to my heart."

Crow couldn't get a good look at this "Jennifer", so he craned his head forward.

She answered, "Well… okay then, Professor. As long as you let me buy something."

Why couldn't he _see_ her? The boy decided it was time to take it up a notch. He grabbed a tan cloak and a large stick. He draped the cloak over him and clutched the stick in his hand so it resembled a cane. The disguise wasn't complete, however, until he stuck a fake moustache on his upper lip. He wobbled out into the sunlight, acting weak and frail. He stealthily followed behind the two.

"Aah!" The girl tripped over an invisible obstacle and tumbled to the ground. Her companion's only response was an, "Oh my!"

Suddenly, Crow found himself holding something. Something strong. He looked up, and saw a girl staring wide-eyed back at him. Her skin was brown, and her silky black hair was tied up into a ponytail, except for the part that hung over the side of her face, giving her a mysterious aura. Her brown eyes twinkled, even though she wasfacing downwards, away from the light.

Why was he holding her arm?

Jennifer tittered nervously. "Um, thank you."

Her voice was unlike anything he had ever heard. He paused, in sheer awe of this perfection. Even the small pimple just below her hairline added charm to her already magnificent poise. But he had to say _something_. He couldn't just leave her hanging. He needed something wonderful, witty, a line that would forever be remembered by the nations.

"Gyah," he stammered.

Well, it was close enough.

Jennifer couldn't hide a smile. "Gyah to you too."

"Um, er, well, welcome. To Misthallery, I mean. Not to some black market or anything, no, no, no. Well, this is the, you know, regular market, but there's, ah, nothing of, er, suspicion here. There's nothing like a black market here, and— and— there's no one here to, er, test you for anything, and, er— The teenagers here aren't Black Ravens!" Crow blurted, much to his mortification.

Layton looked at him with a skeptical glance, while the girl just looked on in confusion. A bit flustered and more than a bit embarrassed, Crow let go of Jennifer.

"I'm Raven Black. I mean—"

"I'm Jennifer Uta," she responded, extending a hand to "Raven". "Nice to meet you, uh, Raven."

He needed to redeem himself. There had to still be a chance! So, he babbled, "I'm rich, so I have my own cell phone. If you're rich too, I could, as they say, 'get your number' and we could 'chill', as they say. Er, as they say, 'You dig'?"

A drop of sweat rolled down Jennifer's face. "Okaaaay," was her response. Crow wasn't sure why she drew out the letter 'a' so much, but he assumed he had done something wrong.

Where did his disguise go? He felt his upper lip. Thankfully, his trusty moustache was still securely attached. As for the rest of his disguise…

"Your cloak, sir," Layton smiled, handing him his tan cloak. He was… playing along? But why?

Crow smiled awkwardly and pulled off his fake moustache. He smiled sheepishly and mumbled, "I was, er, just playing with you. I'm not really old."

For a second, he saw… what was that emotion? Relief? But why—

Oh, Ravens above.

She thought an old guy was asking for her number.

"Um, so, uh, your number?" Crow asked, pulling a notebook and pencil from inside his shoe. He positioned them for maximum practicality and comfort while writing the most glorious group of numbers on the earth and looked up at her expectantly.

Rather hesitantly, Jennifer recited the numbers. Crow swallowed them up like a starving man swallowed up flapjacks. Flapjacks… What a foreign word. He wondered what they tasted like. Warm flapjacks with butter on them, and maple syrup dripping down the sides…

He was getting hungry.

A look of unease crossed Jennifer's face as she muttered to herself, "This is just the weirdest day, isn't it."

Crow jerked back to attention. "I don't run a black market!" he cried out as he wiped the drool off his chin. His eyes darted around wildly. After a short silence, he mumbled, "Well, I must be going. The next auction starts at— er, I must be off. My, ah, parents want me home."

With that, he shoved his writing utensils back into his shoe and rushed to Market North. Nabby caught his arm just before he disappeared down the rope ladder.

"You okay?" he asked. He asked it in his usual bored tone, but Crow could tell that, somewhere under that gruff, annoyed exterior, he cared.

"I'm all right," the teen muttered back, averting his gaze. "You just stay right here, Nabby. I don't think that'll be too much of a pain for you." With that, he disappeared down the passageway to the black market, huddled in the corner, and sat there, wide-eyed and apprehensive of what would happen next. After all, once a stranger infiltrated a territory…

There was no going back, was there?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two – Matchmaker**

"_Gyah. Gyah. You know, Richard, the first word he said to her… was _gyah_. I mean, what does that even _mean_?"_

_The tall, scrawny boy answered, in a voice smooth as clockwork, "I don't know, madam."_

_Her hands ran through her hair, like they always did when she got stressed out. She unpinned it, letting her hair cascade in waves down her shoulders. Quickly, she grasped a small chunk of hair that lay just over her eye and began to twirl it in her fingers. After a hiatus, she declared, "Richard, I believe this… is what we call 'love'."_

"_Nonsense, madam," came the response she so desperately wanted to hear._

_She spun around, facing him accusingly. "Richard, _we_ control the magic around here. _We_ control the love. Did I order them to fall in love? No, I did not."_

"_You did not, madam."_

"_Why then," she seethed, aiming her weapon right at her advisor, "are they in love?"_

_The man cleared his throat, completely unfazed. "That is the wrong arrow, madam, and, if madam so desires, she will still remain in control of the situation."_

_The teenager softened slightly, lowering her arrow. She spun it in her hands. "What of the broken hearts?"_

"_Broken hearts, madam?" Richard enquired, feeding her with just the questions she wanted. She liked the center of attention. It was nice._

"_Yes," she replied, "the broken hearts. Unlike the other angels, I do not fully have angel powers. Do you remember now, Richard? Or have I not told you this tale?"_

_He responded, "Do tell, madam. I yearn to hear your voice."_

_She did not smile. "I almost died at birth," she responded coldly. "Therefore, half of my soul is dead, cold. But that doesn't matter. The point is… dead souls are powerless. They cannot grow, like so many wretched infertile soils cannot grow a beautiful tree. So, my dead, infertile soul is chained to five broken hearts. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes, madam," the voice drawled, soft as a kitten's fur, reassuring as a mother's hug._

"_Now," the girl whispered, followed by a soft, yet diabolical, chuckle. "Let's make some magic."_

"Gyah," Crow mumbled, tossing a wooden sphere in the air and catching it again. "Gyah," he repeated to himself. "You know, Crow, the first word you said to her… was _gyah_. I mean, what does that even _mean_?"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the large, metal door of the bazaar. The teen leapt up from the pile of boxes he was lying on and pulled the curtain aside. He waited.

_Five, four, three, two, one…_

The first knock was then followed by a rhythmic one. It was code, the code that only the Black Ravens knew. It was only used on the door of the bazaar, to show that a Black Raven was about to enter the bazaar to seek Crow's attention. True, Socket and Wren had forgotten the last time they were vying for his attention, but, as he called, "Come in," he was in for a shock.

A lone girl entered the room. Her brown hair had grown longer over the past few years, but it was also grimy and hung in tangled clumps. When she was smaller, she had used to tie it up into two small pigtails, but she had taken to a quick, efficient ponytail in the back. Her blue eyes were clouded, and her small hands were tightly clasped together, so tightly they were white. She was trembling. However, her current expression or hairstyle wasn't the most shocking thing about her. No, the most shocking thing about her was…

She was alone.

"Wren?" Crow enquired softly, more than a little bit surprised to see her. She was supposed to be at position six, by far, the most pleasurable of all the stations.

She swallowed. "Crow," she whispered, ashamed, "I have something to tell you."

Jennifer poked at her plate of chicken and rice tentatively with her fork.

"Eat it," Layton urged her. "It won't bite." With that, he took a mouthful of his own supper. But the girl couldn't eat. She felt sick to her stomach, the way she usually felt when trouble was brewing. With that, she set her fork down on her napkin.

"Professor, I want to go home."

The man arched his eyebrow. "We haven't even seen the Golden Garden yet," he pointed out. Frowning, he also put down his utensil. He folded his hands on the surface of the table. "Jennifer, whatever is the matter?"

Troubled brown eyes met his gaze. "I feel queasy," she explained. It was enough for him to decipher the meaning of her words.

"I see."

There was a long pause. Both people picked up their forks and started chewing their food slowly.

After about fifteen minutes, Jennifer had finished eating. She stared at the scholar. He looked troubled and puzzled. "Professor, are we leaving?"

"I'd like to see the Golden Garden again."

Jennifer shrugged. Surely he could understand that she didn't like fights. She looked back down at her plate, then set her fork down.

"Eat up," Layton repeated himself, motioning to her plate with his right hand.

The student swallowed nervously. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up with a small rustle. "Professor," she mumbled. "I'm not feeling well; I think I should go to bed."

Rather awkwardly, but with the utmost concern, the man nodded at her. He also stood up, abandoning his meal, and offered, "Let me tuck you in."

The prodigy smiled weakly, but refused his offer, in a voice as quiet as the water droplets slowly plinking into the sink. Then, as her words drifted away on the cool, watery breeze coming from that pesky crack in the door, the slow trickling of the tap became the only sound.

After a short pause, the professor muttered, "I'll have to see about discussing that leak with the inn manager."

"Yeah," the teenager responded, then disappeared out of the kitchen area.

Once the girl was out of earshot, the teacher let out a deep, worried sigh. He clasped his hands together into an indiscernible knot and simply stared at it, his back, no, his entire body hunched over it.

Jennifer looked at the pathetic figure and bit her lip. She didn't like seeing him like that, but she also didn't want to make it worse.

Oh well, better to have tried and failed rather than not have tried at—

Hey, what was that?

A lone piece of white stuck out from within the walnut drawer carved rather lazily into the end table next to the bed.

The student looked back at her teacher slumped over the table, and then back at the white. As quietly and sneakily as she could, she slid the paper from its hiding place. Not that it was a very _good_ hiding place. After another glance at the man, she gleefully unfolded the paper. She just _loved_ investigations. It was a handwritten letter, addressed to one…

Jennifer Uta?

She scanned the page. The words were scrawled onto it, and it gave off the impression of the author being in a hurry. However, the message itself didn't make any sense.

_Jennifer_, it said, _the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your significant other, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R._

Then there was an odd symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. Jennifer sat for a moment to try and puzzle it out, then simply dismissed it as a signature of some sort. However, the obvious question now arose. Why was it there, sandwiched in the drawer?

There was only one conclusion.

The professor had been hiding it from her!

"Professor," she stated clearly, sharply. She kept her back to him.

She could hear the rustle of his coat, his soft sniffle. "Mm? Jennifer?" was his response. He was pretending like nothing was wrong. Like that would help him now.

Jennifer tapped the paper with the back of her hand, a smug smile accompanying her air of grandeur. She could feel it. The professor had winced in pain with each tap.

"Professor," she repeated. "Do you know what I hold in my hand right now?"

The man swallowed nervously, a single drop of sweat gliding down his face. "No, Jennifer," he responded, as confidently as he could under the pressure.

"Really?" the girl replied, resting her hand on the paper. "I find that hard to believe." She paused. "Professor, do you honestly believe I would be this blind?"

He didn't answer. The girl continued with her confrontation.

With deliberate steps, Jennifer mused, "No, no, with the way you're worrying right now, it seems as if you have _everything_ to hide." She stopped suddenly, placing her hand on her chin. She closed her eyes with a small sigh.

She let the silence hang over the man like a thick blanket, suffocating him. He felt his lungs ache, his heart hammering; his heart the only thing in his body that he was sure worked. _Is this how others feel when I confront them?_

"Professor Hershel Joseph Layton," she began accusingly. She whirled around, a flash of green and brown embodying her.

It happened so fast. When the scholar could see again, he was met with an index finger. It was staring him right between the eyes. A fatal shot.

"You have been hiding this letter from me, and I want to know _why_!" the girl shouted.

The man gulped. A single drop of sweat dropped from his forehead to his hand. "Yes," he admitted, his voice ashamed. This was not the Professor Layton she knew. "I hid it from you because I saw the man who delivered it."

Jennifer lowered her hand so it rested at her side. She wanted to say something to make it all better, but the professor merely continued, brokenhearted.

"He was dressed in all black, and he was not the regular postman, whom I happen to know personally. This strange man had merely slipped the note under the door, and tried to leave. I was in the yard at the time, enjoying the flowers, and I stopped him. He was a tall, lanky fellow, with rather gangly arms and legs, but, as soon as I approached him, he ran. I managed to grab ahold of his coat, but he twisted out of my grasp and sprinted even faster."

This man had to be important. He just _had _to be! Even if he weren't, it was the girl's only lead. So, she slowly advanced towards the teacher, then, without any warning at all, slammed her hands down on the table he was sitting at, so hard and so fast that he jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. "Tell me more," she insisted.

The scholar hesitated, recalling the incident. "I do believe," he responded slowly, "he was wearing a golden cuff on his right wrist, underneath his coat." He paused again, wracking his brains for another useful tidbit. "It had a heart or two on it, I believe," he frowned.

Jennifer set the page down on the table. "A heart like this?" she asked, motioning to the strange insignia scrawled on the bottom of the page.

The man studied it, then shook his head. "No, no, it was just a regular heart; a heart that one may see in a graphic text or animated media component of some sort."

Jennifer's voice was monotone, mocking him. "You mean a comic or a cartoon?"

Layton was unfazed. "Yes, quite."

The girl rolled her eyes, then placed one olive hand on the page. "So, the next course of action would be to find this… 'significant other' mentioned in the letter."

The man pursed his lips. He hadn't liked that wording. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that, was there? So, he responded, "Yes, that seems about right. Now, we must deduce that the other must be from Misthallery."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed. "So, we just hit the streets and question everyone, right? That _is_ how you do things, right?"

"Hm," was the man's only response.

The two then sat down and puzzled through the mystery. At some point during the night, the professor had managed to scrounge up a directory of all the residents of Misthallery. They worked into the wee hours of the morning, discovering more and more puzzles in that mere scrap of paper. By the morning, they were two exhausted, yet triumphant, researchers.

"Well then," the professor mumbled tiredly, holding up a crumpled scrap of paper that had suffered through much abuse, what with the scribbles and notations made on it. "That's that."

"Mmhmm," Jennifer responded, before her head landed on the table with a loud thump.

ZzZzZz…

"What are you insinuating?" His voice was laced with suspicion as he drummed his fingers on the wooden stage. His companion flinched. At that, Crow softened. He pulled a comb from a pocket within his red coat and tapped the seat next to him. "Come, sit," he invited her.

Wren nodded, and used her minimal arm strength to push herself onto the stage, next to her leader.

"Turn around," he urged.

She did as instructed.

"Good," he applauded her. He then pulled the hair tie from her hair. He took a part of her hair, then pulled the comb through it. Repeatedly. Again and again, until the section of hair was knot-free, at which point he merely moved on to the next clump of hair. Wren sat, motionless, and a bit confused.

After a moment, she piped up. "Crow…?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you combing my hair?"

Crow paused before answering. "Because it's _so messy_!"

Her expression was shocked, then sudden clarity rushed to her eyes. "You're joking," she accused him. She wanted to see his expression, but she couldn't turn around. Smart.

The teen chuckled. "Of course I am," he confirmed. "I just enjoy brushing girls' hair."

"Oh, I see."

They sat for another moment, then the leader broke the silence.

"So you saw… a man in black?"

"Uh-huh," she responded. The girl bit her lip, afraid of his response.

The boy hesitated. The comb stopped plowing through the hair for a minute. Then, it continued, along with his rather soothing voice. "So, there's a note for me now…? From a mysterious black figure…?"

"Uh-huh."

"I see. Do you have this letter for me?"

Wren pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Crow. He took it from her and set it aside, trying to curb his insurmountable curiosity to finish brushing his companion's hair. After a short while, he ran his fingers through Wren's now-smooth hair, set the comb down on the stage, and grabbed the letter, unfolding it and scanning its contents.

_Crow_, it said, _the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your special snowflake, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R._

At the bottom, there was a strange symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. It must have been a signature of some sort, Crow decided, and let it be. There was a more pressing concern at hand: who was this 'special snowflake'?

His now-forgotten companion cleared her throat, nervously clasping her hands in her lap. "Crow," she began, shifting in her seat. "I have something else to tell y—"

"Not now, Wren," the teen dismissed her. "We have bigger fish to fry." With that, he leapt off the stage and sprinted out of the metal doors of the bazaar.

The girl sighed deeply, and pulled a small rectangle from the pocket on the left side of her black button-up jacket. She stared at it. Before the Ravens were founded, Brock, Marilyn's dad, had taken them all to Highyard Hill, to the police station so they could meet Misthallery's police force. He let them all take turns in the photo booth while they were waiting, but they had had so much fun that, after they had finished taking all their photos, it was time to go home. Brock had told them all to take the one strip of pictures they wanted most. The first picture was just her and Socket. They were making funny faces at each other, then the second one was her with a white scarf over her eyes and Crow dramatically covering her eyes with his scarf. The final one was a picture of the Black Ravens, eight of them. Scraps, Marilyn, Louis, Tweeds, Nabby, her and Socket, and, last but not least… _Crow_.

Her favourite was the one with her and Crow. Back when they were only eleven, before all the Black Raven, black market stuff came up, they were just two normal kids with a mom and a dad. Well, not precisely, as Wren had never had a father; he had left before she and Socket were born. But Crow had had a father back when he was eleven, back when he and the brown-haired Raven had been friends.

It was strange, but, thinking back on it, he had never talked about his family with his friend. He had just messed around with the girl, laughing and playing, until his father came out of the house and ordered him inside. As if by magic, Crow would suddenly become subdued and meek, and merely respond, "Yes, sir." He'd wave goodbye to Wren, then disappear into the red brick house with a black metal raven on the roof.

Then, on his twelfth birthday, he had come to Wren's house and told her that his father had passed away… _accidentally_ suffocated, he had coughed uncomfortably. But then he explained to her a new, innovative way for him; Wren; her twin brother, Socket; and a few others to earn money for their parents… or, in Crow's case, for himself. She eagerly agreed, but she knew little of what she had gotten herself into. She saw Nabby take the position she so desperately coveted: the second-in-command. Nabby had told her it was nothing personal, that it was because she had a twin brother, and he would have been jealous. He also told her that it was because she was a girl.

Wren couldn't believe it at the time. She couldn't believe that Crow would be sexist like that. She thought back to when they were friends, the countless times he had thrown mud at her, didn't mind getting her clothes and face caked in dirt and mud and water and sweat… How could he have been so blind? But then, she started to believe it. The only other girl let into the black market was Marilyn, and the leader of the Ravens had never let _Marilyn_ go anywhere but her designated fruit stand, position two. So she had merely thanked her lucky stars for being privileged enough to hang around with Socket and be able to go places.

There was nothing to do about that.

With a tiny sigh, Wren placed the rectangle back inside her pocket, and slunk off the stage, into the market.

Crow stared at the paper. He turned it over and over in his hands. He shook it to see if anything would fall out. He sniffed it. He sniffed it again.

Aha!

He distinctly smelt a whiff of lemon. So, gleefully, he ran to Scraps and Badger in Market West. However, he then strode up to them and asked quietly, "Hey, have either of you got an iron?"

Scraps threw a banana peel aside. "Nope," he answered scornfully. "Why don't _you_ search in the trash for a change, huh, Crow?"

The teen sighed. "Scraps, don't be like that. 'Least you have parents, right? Paying for those spiffy glasses of yours." He tapped the curly-haired teen's round, shiny spectacles.

Badger, the spiky-haired Raven, pulled a metal contraption from the roof. "Here's an iron," he responded to Crow. "Dunno what it's doing on the roof, but here it is." He scrounged around a bit more, coming up with nothing but a small, flat object. He jumped down from his post and shoved his treasure into his leader's hands. "Here," he grunted. "Do ya want the coin too?" He opened his palm to reveal a shiny, gold coin with the insignia of a hat on it.

The boy hesitated before taking it. "Who knows," he told his minions, "it might come in handy someday." He pocketed it in one of his favourite pockets: a small one made of a patch of fabric sewed onto the back of his scarf.

Badger shook his head, letting his mop of brown hair shift over his eyes. No one had ever seen his eyes before. However, his eyes weren't the only mysterious things about him. He was one of the only Ravens that didn't have an existing family. No one knew where he was from. When he had first arrived, there were rumors that his parents were tourists that left him there. There were stories of his involvement with a large fire that had started in Misthallery's police station at that time. There were tales that he was really from the forest, and had been raised by wolves. But no one really knew who he was, or from where he had come.

The Raven nodded, after which, he turned and slowly made his way back up to his stand. Crow smiled at him. He didn't return it. After a short, awkward moment, Crow turned and left. Then, for his next order of business, he made his way up to the southern area of the market, position two.

"Marilyn," he greeted her warmly. "How is the produce doing?"

She smiled back. "Oh, they're getting enough sun, all right," she responded. Subsequently, she smiled mischievously. "So what do you _really_ want, Crow?"

He laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, nothing," he brushed it off, shrugging.

Marilyn's face was unsmiling now. "Crow, you never talk to me unless you want something. So spit it out."

_I need to work on that. I didn't realize that I spent so much time backstage. _Crow resolved to make a schedule for when he'd chat with the Ravens. One-on-one time with each of them. He shivered a little, thinking of spending time alone with Wren. They had used to be such good friends, but, ever since the black market started up, she had grown ever so distant. _How awkward would it be to spend an hour or two with her? Come on, Crow. Be strong, be courageous. We are smart, we are cunning— No, we have a new chant now. More cunning than a wolf, closer than brothers, as black as the night sky. Ironic, as we aren't really all that close._

"May I use that block you're standing on?"

The girl gave him a skeptical look, then agreed, "Sure," as she stepped down from it.

Crow bent over it, placing the iron over it. He turned it on, and…

Nothing?

He heard the teen giggle. She picked up the outlet cord and waved it in front of his face. "Nice going, genius," she chortled.

"Shut up," the leader responded, feeling his face turn a bright scarlet. He collected the iron and the letter, and went in search of Louis. As expected, he was on Grand Bridge, flicking his hair around and looking smart.

"Louis," Crow began.

The boy cut him off. "You're looking for an electrical source of power. Marilyn told me."

"…Right," the teen responded sheepishly. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Mm. That depends," he grinned. "Can you solve my puzzle?"

The exasperated businessman sighed, "Louis, no—"

**Puzzle! No. 001**

Cat Corner

30/30

"Louis," the boy groaned, batting the tan sheet of paper away from the boy's smug face. "I don't have _time_ to solve puzzles."

Louis droned, "There was a man who had a mad obsession with cats. He had large ones, small ones, tan ones, striped, spotted, you name it, he had it. He was so mad about these cats that he themed everything in his house after them, even his front door lock. However, he has forgotten the code. He remembers this much:

- He locked it based on the first five cats he owned: Fluffy, a striped happy cat; Ginger, a tan happy cat; Puffy, a neutral spotted cat; Clawdia, a white grumpy cat; and Olga, a striped grumpy cat.

- The leftmost cat was striped.

- The grumpy cats were next to each other.

- The striped happy cat was not next to the tan happy cat.

- The tan happy cat was in the middle.

- Olga was not at the far right, but she was to the right.

Can you help this man with his cat conundrum?"

Crow sighed. He knew how stubborn Louis could be when he wanted to prove how smart he was. And that puzzle was really a stumper. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and thought. _What could the answer be?_

After several long moments, he opened his eyes and shouted excitedly, "I've got the answer!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Smoke**

"The answer is Olga, Clawdia, Ginger, Puffy, then Fluffy," Crow answered confidently.

Louis, with a smarmy smile, merely shook his head. "Have you read all the clues?" he smirked. Then, he held up another piece of paper. There were three boxes, one marked, "Try Again," one marked, "View Hints," and one marked, "Quit."

"Oh, why must I be put through this?" the leader wailed, frustrated at giving the wrong answer.

Then, the smart boy poked him in the ribs. "Try this," he mumbled.

In his hand was a small notebook, along with an array of colourful pencils and erasers.

"Memo function," Crow grinned evilly. "Wonderful."

"You can't use it unless you try again, Crow," Louis' voice floated through the paper.

The boy tapped his foot, eager to try his new program. "Yes, yes, try again and all that. But make it snappy. I actually have _work_ to do."

The black-haired boy recited the puzzle once more, and Crow couldn't help but to wonder how he could remember all of that. Crow scribbled some notes on the page. They were somewhat distracting, as he felt compelled to doodle on it more than actually solve the puzzle. However, after contenting himself with a quick doodle of Jennifer, he set to work. He created a chart and, examining the clues, realized the error of his ways. Quickly, he exclaimed, "I've got the answer! Fluffy, Puffy, Ginger, Olga, then Clawdia!"

Louis nodded. "Great job! Looks like the door is open now!"

The leader grinned, "I guess I really _am_ as cunning as a wolf!"

The boy just rolled his eyes. "Here." He shoved a piece of metal into Crow's hands. "Just plug your outlet into the metal, then let it float in the water. It'll convert the water into electricity. But be sure to return it. I'll be here on Grand Bridge."

Crow hastily nodded, in a hurry to iron the page, then rushed over to the closest body of water: the small, clear pond of water at the Crossroads. It took him a minute to plug the iron into the machine, however, he did manage to do so. Carefully and meticulously, he placed the contraption on top of the water. He turned his attention to the iron, flicking its ON switch.

…Why wasn't it turning on.

The teen stared at it for a long time. Then, he looked at the electrical device. There was a tiny switch. It was leaning towards the side with the label marked OF—

Boy, was he dumb.

He flicked the other ON switch and watched gleefully as the iron heated up. He placed the paper under it, then moved it back and forth. It gave him a rather unpleasant feeling, an odd one that seemed like it was from long ago.

However, soon enough, faint brown letters began to show up.

_Great job, Crow. I never underestimated your brilliance. However, since you are just a regular boy, unlike your little 'special snowflake', I've set forth a little puzzle for you. Now, to find out who she really is. Are you ready?_

_She may be meek, but don't be judgmental._

_She was never very good at running errands._

_Besides, moreover, she's not very neat,_

_And cleaning up will then amount to nothing._

_I suppose she would like all things irregular,_

_But who really knows what that girl feels?_

_Especially you, Crow, as you're so errant_

_That you can't see past being the ringleader_

_Of your precious Black Ravens, the group unified_

_In its purpose of lies and thievery._

_And one last thing: the first of the last hides your answer._

_Now, hurry up, Crow. Your time's running out. Heat won't last forever, you know._

Crow stared at the page in disbelief. Another puzzle? He didn't have the _time_ for puzzles! And he did not like this black figure's attitude, nor his tone of voice!

The teen frowned. Well, if he wanted to find the answer to his questions, he'd have to solve it— and fast!

_First of the last… first of the last… word?_

_The first of the last word. The first… letter?_

The ringleader read the "poem" out loud to himself. "'She may be meek, but don't be judgmental.' There's a J.

'She was never very good at running errands.' An E.

'Besides, moreover, she's not very neat,' N. 'And cleaning up will then amount to nothing.' N. I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about this…

'I suppose she would like all things irregular,' I…t's her. It's her.

'But who really knows what that girl feels?' F. JENNIF. I wonder who that is.

'Especially you, Crow, as you're so errant' E. And I should look up what the word 'errant' means later.

'That you can't see past being the ringleader' R. JENNIFER. But there are three more lines. I wonder…

'Of your precious Black Ravens, the group unified' JENNIFERU. An odd way to spell it, but all right.

'In its purpose of lies and thievery.' _I find that insulting!_ And I will _not_ take _anything_ short of an _apology!_ …Once I find out who you are, of course.

'And one last thing: the first of the last hides your answer.' A. JENNIFERUTA."

He found himself repeating, "I've got the answer! It's Jennifer Uta!" just like how he did when he solved Louis' puzzle. He exclaimed, "By gum, I've got it!"

However, Crow then realized the meaning behind those words. "It's Jennifer Uta. Why, you Raven-hating fiend? Why _her_?"

It was the most curious thing. It was as if he were heavy, so painstakingly heavy, yet, he still floated. He felt dizzy. He had no idea where he was. His eyes opened to an IV drip.

"He will be all right, won't he, doctor?" he heard his mother's voice say.

The doctor's nose twitched, and so did his bushy gray moustache. It was so full and… well, _bushy_, that it resembled a rather pampered mouse taking a midday nap on his upper lip. "I do hope so, Mrs. Layton," he told her. "It was a rather nasty bite."

Then, he remembered. "The dog," he whimpered, his voice quiet and raspy. "The dog, he bit me, Mother, the dog." His injured hand jerked. "It bit me, Mother." He looked up at her with his innocent eyes. "The dog," he repeated.

"Yes, Hershel, the dog bit you," his mother told him, her voice soothing him. She stroked her son's hair lovingly. "But you will be all right."

The young Hershel looked at his right arm. It was a bloody mass of gore, and he couldn't see much besides red… and a bit of white. The bone? He shivered.

"Don't look at it, son," the lady advised him gently, unable to peel her own eyes from the spectacle.

The doctor's nose twitched again as he checked the clipboard neatly balanced on his arm. "Well, then, I suppose the treatment is—"

The door slammed open. There, standing menacingly, was a large, angry-looking dog. He pawed at the ground restlessly, searching for a good target. Its beady eyes landed on the woman. He lunged at her, she screamed, and—

"Mother, no!" Layton screamed, sitting up. His eyes opened, and Jennifer was staring at him.

She only had to say two words. "The dog?"

He whimpered and nodded, reverting to a childlike state, as he was still half-asleep. "The dog, Jennifer, the dog. It bit me."

The girl sighed, concerned. "We saw one dog on our way into Misthallery. It won't hurt us. It's okay. You don't need to be scared."

"Mm," was his shamefaced response. "It's all right, Jennifer. I'm awake." He groaned; why did his back hurt so much? He reflected dejectedly that he _was _no spring chicken. He shifted, realizing that Jennifer had placed a thin, orange blanket over him, and the oak of the dining table met his gaze. The girl in question smiled at him. He weakly returned it, feeling dishevelled and out of sorts.

The prodigy was stirring something. Upon closer inspection, Layton realized, with horror, that she was stirring raw eggs in a frying pan.

"Jennifer!" he demanded, jumping up from the table, too quickly for his aching back's liking. "Step away before you get hurt. I'll take it from here."

The girl was about to argue, but instead, she meekly stepped away. The professor took control of the stove, which was rather old-fashioned, but he could hardly complain about it at that point. He discarded of the ruined, but, thankfully, not burnt, eggs and washed out the pan. If Flora had been in charge of those eggs… oh my. Suddenly, he became more thankful that Flora had not stowed away in the Laytonmobile.

As he cracked two eggs over the hot stove, he questioned his pupil. "Jennifer, what say we pay that 'significant other' a visit?"

Jennifer frowned. "I don't know. I mean, the directory tells us nothing about where he lives."

The man laughed heartily. "No need to worry, Jennifer, I happen to know where he works."

The student sighed. "Okay then, if you say so—"

A melody rang through the air. It was eerily familiar. Suddenly, with a flash of insight, the scholar's eyes were opened. It was the theme song of The Steel Samurai, a TV show that was quite popular in America. His American niece quite enjoyed the show, although he never comprehended the theme of the emission. Apparently, the moral that was being left on countless children of America was:

Steel Samurai _Sushi Slice!_

In any case, the teenager had soon picked up the phone, rather lazily, as she hated receiving calls and strongly preferred face-to-face communication. She held it up to her ear, as the man began to contemplate whether or not the girl was spoiled.

"Hello?" the student asked the other end.

A nervous voice came over the receiver. "Hey, Jennifer?"

"Yeah."

Crow gulped. "Uh, I'm calling you on my cell phone, because I'm rich, and not dirt poor."

"I can see that."

A small sigh reached the girl. She could tell it wasn't meant to be audible, so she merely ignored it. "Look, Jennifer, I have something to discuss with you."

"So do I."

This struck Crow as both odd and enchanting. Why would she have something to tell him? He didn't worry too deeply about that, though, as her voice was so _dreamy_. Especially when she wanted to talk to him.

"You first," both teens demanded. "I mean—" they corrected themselves.

The leader of the black market cleared his throat. "Well, you know, ladies first and all that."

There was a silence. The Raven could just picture her smiling down at her cell phone and rolling her deep, _soulful_ brown eyes. She'd roll over on her bed, tug at her brown ribbon, and giggle, just like how he huddled in the corner and merely laughed himself into delusion, thinking about her.

Then, like a Raven from the heavens, she spoke. "So, I received this letter." Her wording was careful, precise. She wanted a reaction. That much was clear.

Crow hesitated. _Do I really want to go through with this?_ "Yes," he responded slowly. "I know."

"Really," she stated, not surprised in the least. _Does that mean…?_ "And you received a letter just like it."

_Is she right about everything?_ "Yes. I solved the puzzle inside the letter last night."

She exploded. "That fast?"

The boy was confused. It _had_ taken a while; it had to have been 30 minutes, at least. Stupid Louis and his puzzles. "No, it took me thirty minutes."

Jennifer was outraged. "And you literally folded it into a crane, a frog, a teacup, an indiscernible shape, and so many others in thirty minutes?"

"No… It was written in invisible ink. Lemons, actually."

There was a long pause. "One second," she finally said. After yet another long, _long_ silence, she returned, and meekly responded, "You're _right_."

He couldn't resist the curiosity that welled up inside him. "What does it say?"

She responded in a poem, which would have been creepy if Crow didn't understand that messages were always transmitted in poems.

"'_This poem isn't just a rhyming couplet,_

_But I'm sure that you, of all people, would understand that, right?_

_Are you thinking that, after that complex puzzle, this is an oasis?_

_Well, Jennifer, you're wrong._

_For you don't even know the name of that harlequin_

_That you're supposed to be chasing after._

_He's fed you a pack of lies up to this time. Isn't that reasonable?_

_He's got a nice little secret that he must guard carefully._

_All right, I'll give you a hint in this little ode._

_After all, it is a large secret you must uncover._

_Have you ever asked him why he calls his market the Black Ravens?_

_Oh, and the first of the last will save you a bit of time._' What was that all about?"

Crow shuddered. _How does this… this fiend know so much?_ "Uh, nothing," he lied. "Nothing at all." Only a small pinpoint of sweat betrayed him, sneaking down from underneath his cap.

"What's a Harcourt?"

The leader bit his tongue. He had long since abandoned that name, and only then did it come back to haunt him. "Harcourt is… um… a last name. It means something like 'from the falconer's or hawker's hut'. Or something like that. They were birdwatchers."

"Who?"

"Ah!" He had said too much. Much too much. He wasn't even supposed to _breathe_ that accursed word! He debated for one second, then blurted, "My parents. Ah, I mean—"

The girl was skeptical. "They _were_ birdwatchers?" Before the Raven could come up with a believable lie, she accused him, "I knew it! You _are _hiding something from me!"

Crow protested, "No, no, no—"

"Let me guess," the student's voice floated over the line. "You own a secret black market owned by the Black Ravens, and all the teenagers in the market are really part of this black market. And your parents are dead, so you use the auctions to make money."

The teen's mouth literally dropped open. "How… How…" he stammered.

Proud, the girl explained, "You told me yesterday. Well, you just specifically denied it. I inferred the rest."

"You _are _amazing," Crow breathed. "I mean, uh, that there, was, er, a simplistic deduction—"

"Please insert another ten pence."

The boy muttered, "Drat!" He told the girl, "One moment, please," then jerked his finger backwards, pulling the hint coin with it, as it was attached to his finger by a thread. Then, he re-inserted the coin. "Right, so, you were saying?" he asked, as casually as he could muster.

The girl was silent. "You don't really have your own cell phone, do you?"

The leader contemplated this. _See, on one hand, she'll hate me if I'm poor, but, on the other hand, she'll probably figure it out anyways, she'd hate me if I lied to her, and it's the right thing to do anyways. _"You're right," he admitted shamefacedly.

The teen groaned. "Crow, you don't need to lie to me. If you worked as a toilet scrubber, I'd like you the exact same way that I'd like you if you were a king. The only difference is that I'd mooch more money from kings." She giggled a little at her joke. However, her voice then became serious. "That was a joke. I wouldn't mooch money from you. Okay?"

The Raven responded shakily, "Please hold." He placed the phone gently down on a convenient platform. Then, he burst out, "Yes!" Upon realizing that she could probably hear him, he bit down on his hand and did a small, happy jig around the cramped space. When he opened his eyes, however, he saw a very amused, surprised, and confused Tony Barde staring back at him. The newest member of the Ravens, Tony was just getting the ropes. He had joined just one year ago. However, his respect for Crow was quickly dropping, and he couldn't have _that_, now could he? No, no, no, that problem had to be rectified, and fast.

"Tony, quit laughing, or I'll assign you to position four!" the teen shouted at him.

With a shocked whimper, Tony whined, "But _Crowww_, Louis' dad is there! And I _hate _having to amuse him!"

"Quit whining too, or you'll soon be spending quality time with Mr. Shackwell!" he demanded. He chuckled to himself. Shackwell was their most loyal customer, which was more than a bit awkward, as his money was money that could have been spent caring for Louis. That being said, Louis often got the greater amount of the money earned from the auctions, considering it was his to begin with.

Afraid, the thirteen-year-old rushed off, with a quick, "See ya, Crow!"

"So, um," the leader greeted, picking up the receiver again, "Jennifer, I was thinking we'd— ah, maybe, I thought we could— er…"

"Meet up? That way, we could find another clue!"

_Wasn't what I was going for, but all right. I'll bite. _"Yeah, sure. I'll wait for you at position s— I mean, Aunt Taffy's stand."

"Got it."

There was a click as the line went dead.

_Doesn't anyone say goodbye anymore?_

Crow sighed. What had he gotten himself into? However, the excitement of seeing his beloved perked him up a bit. He pulled the hint coin from the machine and pocketed his little device. Then, he grabbed the glass shard from his scarf and checked his hair. With a breath of relief, he placed it back where he found it. As he exited the phone booth, he thought of the peculiar golden coin. Before heading over to the umbrella, he took a tour of the market, searching every crook and nanny— er, nook and cranny, of the market. By the time he had finished searching, he had found a whole bag of coins, and also a piece of bad art. He was so happy that he practically skipped to Aunt Taffy's stand.

"Hello, Aunt Taffy!" he smiled brightly at the old woman.

Her normally stern face cracked in two as she returned the smile. "Well, isn't somebody chipper today," she noted. "Good job, dear. You always seem so stern. Children should laugh and play, not sulk around and judge. Grown-ups have that job."

"That's right, Aunt Taffy." It was never in a child's best interest to argue with Taffy. "Actually, Aunt Taffy," the boy continued, "I think I'd like to purchase some candy, perchance."

"All right, son. Which one of my handmade confections catches your fancy?"

"Ah… that one." The teen pointed at a delicious-looking lollipop hanging from the left corner of the stand.

"That one? It costs 50 pence."

"Do you take hint coins?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four – Wisp**

Jennifer looked over her shoulder again. She had told him she was going out. She even told him _where_ she was going: to the market. But, for some reason, she still realized he was trailing her, and not very well, at that. However, she decided to play along with his little game. It wasn't like anything _bad_ was going to happen, anyways…

Crow was standing there, his hands behind his back. Like he had a surprise for her. She hoped it wasn't another puzzle note. Her temples ached at the concept.

Yet, as soon as she was within his range of vision, he flourished… a heart-shaped lollipop?

She stopped dead in her tracks. He waved the candy in front of her face, a smirk evident on his smug little face. He knew the candy would make her day. _Well_, she decided, _I'm not going to make it take over my mind and soul._

The leader watched her expectantly as she thanked him and took a condescending lick of the lollipop—

_Man, that's a good lollipop._

For one moment, her mind went blank. She was rising on a cloud of rainbow smoke, able to touch the heavens. The boy had stared at her throughout the whole experience, but she didn't realize until shortly afterwards. Once he saw her eyes refocus on his, he tore his gaze away from her deep brown eyes with an awkward, "Um, er…"

She decided to interrupt him there, before he said something too embarrassing. "So, Crow, um… Now what?"

He looked startled, then, a bit too smoothly, answered, "Well, that's easy. We just take the problem to Wren for analysis—" Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes wide with realization. "We… can't take this to Wren, can we," he told himself.

The girl shook her head no. "Who's Wren?" she asked him.

He held his breath. "I'll… have to introduce you to all the… er, Ravens, someday." He stared blankly past her, lost in thought. After a minute, he shook his head and smiled mischievously. "So, I suppose we just wait, then." He swallowed, and his hand brushed against hers. With a moment of ecstatic shock, he blurted, "There's a really nice lady around here. She lives up in North Ely, and she likes to make food for visitors to her home. I know Scraps and Badger visit her often." He frowned. "Er, I believe her name is Miss Jasmine. She's not a client, so the Ravens don't have a special interest in her, but her food is splendid, or so I've heard." He licked his lips nervously. "So, I was wondering if, while we're waiting, we could maybe go over to her house and grab some pasta or something… if you want to."

"She is _not_ interested, thank you very much," a stern voice floated from the bushes. Soon, after a loud rustle, a ferocious Layton emerged, hastening for Crow. He dealt a disciplinary blow to the back of the boy's head, then grabbed hold of his ear. "Listen here, boy," he growled.

Aunt Taffy shouted, "Now then, I do believe you're being a bit hard on the boy." Crow smiled at her thankfully, until she opened her big mouth and continued, "He could get brain damage if you smack him upside the head like that. I do believe a couple of good smacks on his bottom will do the job quite nicely."

"Auntie," the Raven whined miserably at the woman.

The professor smiled at the old woman, and gently, but, yet, so, evilly, told her, "That will do quite nicely, thank y—"

"Watch out!" Jennifer screeched.

A beautifully crafted arrow glided down from the sky, consisting of a shining silver body and a red heart as the point of the arrow, heading straight for Layton's—

When it hit him, he didn't even wince. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Crow and Jennifer, who winced at the mere concept of the pain of it.

"Oogh…" Crow moaned.

Jennifer added painfully, "That's _gotta_ hurt… Are you alright, Professor?"

His eyes glanced back up at Taffy. Deciding that something was seriously wrong with the man, the teen issued an order. "Right then, everyone stand back," he instructed, taking special care to gently propel Jennifer backwards. He grabbed hold of Layton's limp wrist and pushed his forefinger on it, feeling for the pulse. His heart was racing. _Well,_ Crow speculated, _at least we know he's not dead._

At that moment, the teenage girl stepped forward and touched the boy's arm. An electric shock of ecstasy whizzed through him, like a missile. His mouth went dry, and his heart was racing—

Then, with a sudden convulsion of the mind, he made a deduction. _He's… _

Layton shakily stood up, acting strangely as if his legs had turned to jelly. "M-My dear…" he mumbled, taking the vendor's hand, "you look simply _wonderful_ today."

…_In love with Aunt Taffy?_

A whisper tickled the pale, moist skin of the Raven. "What's happening to him?"

Crow muttered, "He's in love with Aunt Taffy."

Jennifer's eyes widened. "What?" she gasped.

But Crow had already focused his attention on the arrow wedged rather painfully into a rather sensitive part of the scholar's body. It was sleek, wonderfully moulded. Even an inexperienced observer could quickly see that it was no ordinary arrow. After all, it _had_ fallen from the sky. The end which had struck the man was carved out of an oddly soft plastic, and it didn't seem to be causing him any pain. There was a small note, which was stained with a delicious-smelling tea (this was determined _after_ he removed the arrow), and he carefully plucked the note from the arrow. _Let Taffy suffer a bit longer, _was his cruel thought.

He unrolled it, and the girl caught interest. She stared over his shoulder and gasped. "It's from that guy from earlier!"

Paying no mind to the lovesick professor, she read it aloud.

"'_Grand work on finding each other, but your puzzle is only beginning._

_Reaction with the arrow causes lovesickness,_

_A very challenging ailment; wouldn't you know, Crow?_

_None o' clock is when it wears, though._

_Don't forget to meet at this location_

_Before that happens. Once you read this, a new arrow will be_

_Ready and waiting for you to receive._

_I will be looking forward to your reaction, Crow._

_Drag yourselves over to the destination I specified._

_Go on, before your time runs out._

_Every puzzle has an answer.'"_

Jennifer paused for a moment, running her finger down the page. "Oh, I've got it," she smiled. Turning to her companion, she asked, "Is there a Grand Bridge in this town?"

The teen eagerly nodded. "Yeah, Grand Bridge is where Marilyn lives. It's just southeast of the market."

The girl's eyebrow furrowed in confusion. "Crow?" she asked.

"Mm?"

"It says that once we read this, then a new arrow will be ready and waiting for us to receive. And that you'll have some kind of reaction that he'll be looking forward to see." Just at that moment, a new arrow glided on the wind, free as a bird in the sky. However, this time, the arrow's destination was Crow…

The target frowned. "That is odd," he speculated. He partly turned away from the girl.

"Umm… Crow?" she persisted.

"Mm?" he responded. He followed her gaze to…

A heart. Sticking from his bottom. "I mean," he stammered, suddenly realizing his mistake, "er, how's it going, sweet thong—"

A very skeptical glance from Jennifer ensued.

"Thing, I meant thing! I meant to say… thing." He stared at her, his cheeks turning a slight shade of vermillion.

The enigmatic teenager just closed her eyes and frowned a bit, lost in thought. _It was odd. I saw the arrow whizzing through the air, landing neatly in his… yeah. Then why is he his normal self? Shouldn't he be touching me all over like the professor with Aunt Taffy?_

However, the boy couldn't help but think, _I can make her smile again. _He took a step forward and leaned into her. His face was just inches away. He pursed his lips, pushed himself forward using the balls of his feet, and—

He fell face-first on the ground. Jennifer was kneeling over him, and she had removed a slip of paper from the arrow.

"It just says, 'Sorry,'" she frowned.

He didn't respond for a moment. Then, he did something he thought would never do to Jennifer for as long as he lived. "Hey, Jennifer," he blurted, pulling the arrow out, turning over, and holding her face firmly in his hands in one fluid motion.

Her eyes widened slightly, but, besides that, she didn't seem to mind. "Yeah?" she responded coolly, with a slight smile that was so light and refreshing that Crow smirked too. The voice that came out his mouth was so smooth and suave that he didn't recognize it until it had wafted from his mouth.

"So, I wanted to take you somewhere, tomorrow night. So, after Grand Bridge, but before we actually embark on this big journey."

Her only response was to laugh. "Too late," she giggled. "Life is the biggest journey you'll ever face." After a short pause, she gasped. "That was so deep! Cheesy, but deep!" She laughed again.

Crow could only barely keep the smirk on his face. He loved cheesy and deep. Whatever that meant. Probably some kind of London street lingo.

"The stars do look beautiful," Jennifer sighed to Crow. She looked at him warmly. "Do you ever look at the stars and think they're angels, shining far, far away?"

The boy frowned. "No," he responded simply. "Angels don't shine. They glow." He touched her nose playfully. "Actually, I'm only guessing. I do like to think that they glow. I saw it in a dream I had once."

"Yes, the stars do look absolutely wonderful tonight, Taffy. Just like your eyes," Layton abstractly murmured, fondling the cross woman's gray hair.

She began, "You can't see my eyes, you dingbat—"

The old woman was interrupted by Crow's meaningful glare. She reluctantly kept her mouth shut, except, of course, to direct an angry question at Crow.

"How long do I have to stay with this lunatic again?"

It was rather funny. The two teenagers had insisted she stayed until the arrow wore, as she had tried to run at times. After a moment, Layton would return to her sweets stand and, upon seeing her arrive, he would rush at her, armed with flowers, yelling, "My beautiful Taffy! How the fates do bond us together!" She had given up, merely muttering, "_Bind _us together," as she was smothered by a loving embrace.

Crow got up from lying beside the small stand of merchandise that had been abandoned for a long while. Upon thinking of it later, he realized he could sell those forgotten goods for much more than it would ever be worth. But, at that point, he strode over to Taffy, who was experiencing a romantic moonlit stroll.

"Just feel the love, Auntie," he told her tenderly. "It'll wear off soon." Turning to his accomplice, he called, "Much longer, Jennifer?"

She checked her phone. "Ten minutes."

The leader turned back to the old woman. "Ten minutes," he reiterated. In a lower voice, he added, "Now, if it's all the same to you, Auntie, I'd like to talk to Jennifer."

The vendor's expression softened slightly. "Run along, then," she smiled, dismissing not the teenager she saw before her, but the eager six-year-old boy and his little two-year-old sister.

He had proudly showed her the missing space where his new and improved tooth would have grown. She didn't know how he had done it, but he had gotten the tiny girl to smile, "Good afternoon, Auntie Candy," and to say please and thank you. Besides that, however, she had been very tomboyish, loving to play in the mud and the dirt. Crow would hastily apologize to the woman for his sister's behaviour, and the two would soon leave licking lollipops.

She had loved those two like her own children.

Now, as she looked at the boy, she knew. She knew they had grown distant, ever since the poor girl's death. For the love of sweet, it almost seemed as if he regarded her as an enemy, a spy, even. He became mysterious and shady. She also knew that he wouldn't show her those pesky pimples appearing underneath his rather large bang of hair half as eagerly as he had shown her his teeth, which was rather a relief for her. She wondered what was troubling him. She watched him longingly as he made his way over to the girl.

"Hey, Jen-Jen," he grinned at his cohort.

She laughed that sweet, melodic laugh of hers. "Hey… Cr-Cr…" She chortled at her joke.

He was surprised to find himself laughing as well. He put on a serious face and inquired, "In all seriousness, about tomorrow—"

"Sure," she smiled at him.

He grinned at her. "Wonderful," he drawled smugly. "I'll see you there."

She frowned a bit, confused. "See me where, though? Did you specify a location, or did that slip your mind?" She giggled, knowing she was correct in assuming that he had forgotten.

The boy reddened. She laughed harder. Surprisingly, he prepared a response rather quickly. "Meet me backstage."

She arched an eyebrow. "Backstage?"

Crow lay down beside her, stretching tiredly. He yawned before replying, "Right. I forgot that you don't know the networks. All right then, meet me at position six— er, Aunt Taffy's stand."

The girl smiled at him, laying her hand down suspiciously close to his. His heart rate picked up. "So, Aunt Taffy's stand is position six? What about the other five positions?"

He smiled. "Confidential. Besides, there are ten positions, not six."

She stared at him in wonder. "Ten?"

The boy looked at her, smiling at her amazement. "Yes, and each Raven has to memorize the locations. It's not that hard, though. Besides, each Raven has one or two positions that they stand at most often. For instance, Marilyn's is position two."

"Which is…?" Jennifer enquired.

Crow began, "Her pa—" He stopped abruptly. "I see," he remarked. "I see what you did there. Well, I'm _not _falling for it."

Giggling, Jennifer rolled away from her companion. "So, tomorrow, Aunt Taffy's stand."

"At eight," the leader added smoothly.

The faint sound of a flute carried on the wind. Its melodic beauty was something Crow's ears had never heard. In the distance, a heavy mist covered the scenic mountains on the outskirts of Misthallery in a shroud of mystery. A small, flickering light was seen. It disappeared after a moment, then a large firework exploded in the air. It was beautiful, taking the shape of a magenta heart.

The boy took a moment to place his fair hand on the girl's brown one. She looked at him curiously, but he chose to stare at the now-dissipating array of lights.

Then, when the teen spied Jennifer looking away out of the corner of his eye, he leaned towards her, pursing his lips, and leaning towards his love—

"Now then, boy, what is it you think you are doing?" a very stern voice demanded.

The girl leapt up and wrapped her guardian into a heartfelt hug. "Professor!" she exclaimed. "You're okay!"

The man blushed a bit, and rubbed the girl's back affectionately. "Yes, well, that I am," he smiled.

Crow adjusted his scarf nervously. He didn't like the way they were embracing. It made his heart ache a bit, although he'd never admit that. He stared blankly in the direction of the twin bridges. He had overheard Wren and Socket talking about them once. Socket had hypothesized that the twin bridges were like him and Wren: an older brother extending Grand Bridge, and a younger sister connecting the market.

_A younger sister…_

"Raven," the boy choked out. Hearing her name spoken out loud pierced a wound in his heart. Her green eyes used to sparkle with daring, with wit and humour. He saw her in his mind's eye, laughing just like she used to. He wanted to go back, to capture every moment he spent with her, to replay it and hold her tight, to not let her go, let her die. He wanted nothing more than to see her again, to run into her arms, clutch at her sleeves, smell her hair again as he sobbed the pain of his loss away.

He remembered when she had told him that she wanted to tour the steam-car factory. Sebastian, a rather nice man who worked at the factory, was a good friend of hers, so he let her watch him operate the machine, unbeknownst to Crow. When the boy had called to the worker to ask where she was, the man had turned to tell him, and his hand hit the lever…

His little sister was crushed to death by a steam-car machine.

His little sister was crushed to death by a steam-car machine.

_His little sister was crushed to death by a steam-car machine._

"Dammit!" His voice cracked as he choked on his tears, bit his lip, fought it all back. He let out a shuddering sigh, blinking a bit, as if he were blinded. "I'm all right," he told himself. He thought of his fellow Black Ravens. They never would have formed the auctions, never would have tried to reach their full potential, had she not left. It was all for the greater good. All for the greater good…

The boy wiped his eyes, in case any tears had made it out, and turned back to the foreigners. It was wonderful timing, as they were just separating from each other. Jennifer turned to Crow, sensing discomfort and unrest. It made her stomach churn. She opened her mouth, but a shadowy figure emerged.

"Crow," she warned him anxiously.

The teen turned to face the intruder. "Ah, Tony," he greeted the Raven. "What brings you here? You're not usually assigned to position one this time of night. Aren't you supposed to be alternating with Badger in position eight?"

Tony frowned. "Position four, actually, with Socket."

"Hm. So why aren't you looking out?"

The teen responded, "Well, a figure approached me and gave me a message for you."

His voice was harsh. "Did you take it for analysis?"

He bit his lip. "No… is that a good thing?"

Crow clapped him on the shoulder. "For once, Tony, I'm glad to have someone who doesn't know the ropes on my team." He took the slip of paper from Tony. "Go on, get back to Socket."

"Yes, Crow," Tony nodded, turning to leave.

"Oh, and Tony?"

The boy turned back. "Yes?"

"There will be a special guest tomorrow night. Don't forget to attend this time, all right?"

"Yes, Crow. Good night."

Crow unfolded the letter, then groaned. No more acrostics for them. This one was a classic puzzle. He stared at it.

_**Puzzle! No. 002**_

_Which Location?_

_30/30_

_Now then, Crow, I'm very glad to have handed this one off to your rookie. This is your puzzle, "Which Location?" I must warn you, if you decide to hand this off to Jennifer, your punishment will be… accursed._

Crow gulped, then shuddered, but read on.

_Well, here are your locations: position one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. Do they sound familiar?_

_I know that you know your positions, but here they are again. One is Grand Bridge, your current location. Two is Marilyn's stand. Third is Market North. Fourth is the underground black market. Fifth is the western market. Sixth is the sweets stand. Seventh is the heart of the market. Eighth is within the forest. Ninth is the eastern market. Finally, tenth is the gate surrounding Barde Manor. _

_Now, your criteria for finding your first broken heart are:_

_One: Your heart is located in a place that is not grassy._

_Two: Your heart can never be buried in the back of one's mind._

_Three: Your heart can never be sold, not even for bargain prices._

_Four: Your heart cannot be caged. _

_Five: Your heart is immersed in vapour._

_Have fun locating your heart, and good luck! Once you find your heart, I will explain how to activate it. Oh, and one last thing: you are fulfilling the broken heart of family. Consider this well._

The teen stared at the puzzle.

This one would prove to be difficult.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five – Charred**

_The girl stared at her companion. He lay, sprawled out on the old, worn loveseat. His normally spotless blond hair was now covered in white frosting and purple streamers. His brown eyes, usually alert, were drooping with exhaustion. With a surprising tenderness, she crossed the filthy room to the blaring radio and switched it off._

_Richard yawned and opened his eyes, realizing his master still wanted his company. "What is it you wanted, madam?"_

_She hesitated, unwilling to cooperate._

_The teen read her eyes. He lurched up from the couch, strode over to the girl, and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, darling," he told her, kissing her again. He wrapped her into an embrace. The villain could smell the spilled cake on his suit._

"_I'll be taking a shower soon, madam," the minion smiled at her. "I need to wash out my inner party animal."_

_She smiled back, refusing to laugh at the joke. Instead, she ordered, "Okay then, afterwards, you can go to sleep. I'll be taking a flight, maybe check on Jennifer while I'm at it."_

_Richard frowned, seeming worried. "Don't bother, madam. I checked up on them just before the party."_

"_Sure," the girl agreed, thinking it was adorable that he cared about where she spent her energy. She looked at the clock upon the small wooden desk located just by the couch. Seeing that it was past twelve, she hugged him, much to his surprise, and told him, "Happy belated anniversary, Richard."_

_He kissed her on the nose and, in his comforting British accent, responded, "Happy belated, Jessica."_

"Hey, new one!"

The girl sighed. It had been almost eight years since she had joined, yet they still insisted on calling her the "new one". She supposed it was just because there hadn't been a new member for ages and ages. The leader had told her about the origin of the alliance, and how, due to its nature, there really weren't that many new members. She told her about how they had to battle over the dark maw of death to clutch the souls they wanted. Oftentimes, they lost, she recounted grimly. This always made the girl feel special.

The only ones who did not call her by this… endearing nickname were the leader, obviously, and then the sub. The leader had given her a name when she was pulled through, and that name was Arala. This was what the leader called her. However, the sub was a nice, friendly young man by the name of Rilec who swept up from time to time.

Arala tugged at the snugly-fitting waistline of her fancy, black dress. There was so much lace on it. She grimaced. Lace reminded her of home— no, that wasn't right. It reminded her of… _him_.

She could not remember precisely who he was, or why she kept seeing him in her mind's eye. She had brought it to the sub once, and he told her not to worry about it; it was perfectly normal. He refused to tell her what it meant, just dismissed it as a side effect of being so new. He explained that, over a number of years, the details would fade, his features would blur, and, after a few decades, it would all be gone.

So she believed him. The society told her about how she was pulled out, but they kept quiet about her past life. She didn't know why, so she had learned to accept the, "Arala, you're overstepping," as her answer. Or, sometimes, she'd get, "Why don't you go and actually do your _job_ instead of filling your useless head full of _fantasy_, new one?"

Arala's job was lookout. She oversaw the realm of Yesterday, to make sure no invaders were approaching, while the others formulated battle strategies. They promised her a fair chance in the upcoming battles. However, when she woke up, she would see that they had already left without her.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered to herself, twirling a clump of her brown-gray hair around her finger. Then, she saw him again. His kind eyes, his comforting arm around her shoulders.

"It _does_ matter!" he insisted. "You have to remember me! Don't trust them; they took you away from me!" His eyes were ablaze with passion, energy… love?

The witches never spoke of love.

Ever since the beginning of time, it didn't really exist. At least, not in Tomorrow, the witches' realm. Arala had heard of love before; she knew she had. But she didn't really remember it all that well. Apparently, the ghosts had it. She heard this lady talking about it. She was dangerously close to the border. Yesterday was the ghosts' world. And Arala did not like ghosts. No witch did.

She closed her eyes, seeing him more clearly in her mind's eye. He opened his mouth, but she could only make out the word, "you're". After a moment, his eyes widened in shock. "You have to remember!"

Arala's eyes fluttered open with surprise. She called out, "I can't remember! I don't know who you are!"

"Arala?" A clear, sharp voice pierced through the still nothingness of the realm. "Arala, are you all right?" She recognized that voice.

She warily peered over the lookout bin. "Oh, hey, Vani," she shrugged casually.

"Oh, nice welcome, new one," she sneered. However, her sadistic amusement soon melted into anger. "And what did I tell you about abbreviations!"

"I know, I know," the 12-year-old girl dismissed with a wave of her hand. "They're not allowed in the Realm of Tomorrow."

Vaniela growled. "You _don't_ dismiss the rules, _partner_."

The girl sunk down into the lookout bin, clutching her arms defensively. "You're _not_ my partner!" she yelled out, wishing it were true.

"Actually, the _leader_ assigned me here, and you don't want to backtalk the leader, do you, new one?" she snarled.

Arala busied herself by thinking about what she'd do if she had a different partner. A _warlock_, not a witch. They could have done so many more things together. However, the clang of the ladder jolted her from her pleasant daydreaming.

Her real partner shook her scarecrow-coloured hair aside and thrust her palms forward. A stab hit the girl in the arm. She bit her lip. She did _not_ want Vaniela to know that she had hit her.

"You know," she called weakly, yet bravely, "if you hit me in my death source, the leader'll kick you out of Tomorrow. She might even turn you into a ghost!"

The girl grinned sadistically. "I won't hit your death source, new one." With a grunt of effort, she cast a new spell, this one elemental. The witch could feel it.

Arala felt an unbearable flush on her cheeks. Then, the heat spread to her arm. She looked at her hand, enchanted by the dancing orange things. Then, she realized what it was.

"Intruder!" she screeched. "You can't use fire! Only…"

Vaniela smirked. "Yes, only ghosts can use fire," she warbled triumphantly.

The girl closed her cat-green eyes and chanted, "Extinguish the flames. Extinguish— Ah!" Her rhythm was interrupted by another blow. Her eyes darted around for anything, anything she could use to her advantage. If she didn't extinguish herself soon, she realized, the whole lookout bin could catch afire.

She needed… She needed…

"Exting— Exti—"

The girl panted, searching for air. "I thought you'd changed, Vani!"

"_Don't_ call me that!" her rival exploded, casting yet another attack.

Arala's eyes darted wildly, looking in amazement upon the dark fumes rising up into the air. Why were the beautiful licks of fire producing such ugly smoke? Just like a ghost! Suddenly, she felt a gust of wind, so powerful that she was swept out of the tower, and she was standing across a sea. There, she saw him again, just a figure through the deep fog. She felt moisture on her face, the cool saltiness stinging her cut lips.

He sighed. Somehow, she could see the breath escaping, but she still could not see the mouth from which it was born. "You must remember. I don't know what they did to you, but, whatever it is, you must remember me, despite it all!"

"I don't know who you are," the witch shouted over the expanse, "but I'm about to turn into a ghost. I'm going to die." She choked on the last words, tears running down my cheeks. She didn't want to become one of them. Not after the society went through so much just to keep her from them. She felt she must have been special. There must have been some reason.

Then, he did something queer. He leaned over, cupped a bit of the sea in his hands, and threw the whole thing at the surprised girl. Surprisingly enough, it retained its ball-like shape. "Catch the…!" he shouted, the wind carrying away the rest.

"Water!" she screamed, throwing her hands out to catch it.

A howl reached her ears from below.

Quickly, Arala saw her chance, screaming, "Extinguish!" The flames dissipated as quickly as they had come. Seeing this gave the weakened witch some sort of new power. She could see his eyes, shining, proud, and happy. He was still across the sea, but she felt his presence, closer than it was before. "Thank you!" she called out.

"No," he told his friend, quiet as a mouse across the floor. "Thank _you_."

Just then, Arala felt something, like fire. It was like a spark just… happened. Inside her… death source? Was it fire? Again? "No!" she bawled, losing her confidence again.

"Concentrate!" he shouted, appearing again. "Win this one!"

Arala tried to run to him, but the flow of the water pushed her back. He was getting on a raft… leaving her? Alone, to die? "Don't leave yet! I still need you!"

As he pushed off from the shore, he told the witch, "Just remember! There's only one thing I feel for you!"

She screamed as a fireball hurtled past me. "Sympathy!" the girl cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Nothing happened. "Sorrow!" she tried again. Nothing. "Goodwill!"

Nothing.

"Why don't you take this one to your precious leader?" Vaniela called triumphantly, then sent one final attack. One final attack towards her death source.

A bloodcurdling scream escaped her. She collapsed, feeling herself fall out of the lookout bin. No resistance. No safety. No mysterious boy to help her. Out of her closed eyes, she could see him. He was again drifting away on the sea, however, this time, he was too far away to help.

"Who are you," the witch whispered, before she fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

"_Hello? Are you alright?"_

"_She okay?"_

"_I don't know. How is the treatment going?"_

"_Fine. D'you think she'll, ah, affect things?"_

"_Uhm— Oh, look, she's stirring."_

_A mere girl looked blankly up at them. She shifted uncomfortably, only to gasp as a surge of pain flooded through her. She stared at them, looking for help, an explanation._

_It was like she was looking at light and darkness._

_One was tanned, with thick black hair and deep brown eyes that almost seemed like black holes. However, the other one looked fragile, with pale skin, astonishing yellow eyes, and blond hair._

"_Hey," the bright one smiled, "you're awake."_

"_Hi," the girl whispered, slightly mistrusting._

_The strange boy continued, "Don't move, okay? My friend Yarmet's going to grab some healing stuff for you. He's a genie with this sort of stuff."_

_Yarmet looked over at him, then muttered, "Yer not m'friend, Zainem."_

"_Really now?" he countered smarmily._

_Yarmet just frowned and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Then, he bent over a small pail and stuck his hands inside, doing who knows what inside it._

_Then, Zainem told the confused girl, "So, um, what hit you back there? You've been struck pretty hard. Almost at your heart, too."_

"_Oh, just a friend of mine. Her name is Vaniela, but I call her Vani," the wounded witch mumbled weakly. "She accidentally threw a lightning bolt at me." After a moment, she asked, "What's a heart?"_

_Zainem, with a small sigh, lay down on the lush green grass next to her. "Right. I forgot witches are sort of uneducated."_

"_Excuse me?" she demanded, only to let out a tiny yelp at the electric pain coursing through her veins, like venom._

_His eyes widened as he touched her arm. "Don't move!" he exploded, then, after a moment, he mumbled, "I didn't mean it like… that, I just meant that witches and warlocks don't tend to… know as much about the realms outside from theirs."_

"_Oh."_

_A long pause followed, after which the strange boy mumbled, "I'm Zainem."_

"_Arala."_

"_What's your real name, Arala?"_

_She was silent. "My… real name? I don't know."_

_He grinned at her. "My real name is Zane."_

"_Zane," she whispered. "That's a nice name."_

"Hello? Are you alright?"

"Zane," she mumbled in response. She wanted to lift her arms and open her eyes, but when she tried, she had felt that venomous feeling again, crippling, paralyzing.

She heard his small chuckle. "How cute," she heard him whisper to someone, most likely Yarmet. "She's saying my name. Guess that means she remembers."

Then, she felt a light hand brush her shoulder. "You aren't superstitious, are you?" he joked. As a rule, witches were _always _superstitious. They caused the superstition. Her eyes cracked open. There he was. He looked a lot taller than he used to be. He was wearing the same clothes as he used to, but, somehow, even they seemed different. His cheeks were now smudged with dirt, his old collared shirt now ragged and stained. However, the most striking thing about him was not about him, it was about what he held in his arms.

A midnight-black cat.

This cat was released onto Arala's chest. It gently, suspiciously treaded over her lacy dress.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

Zainem sat down, cross-legged, next to her. "It's okay. He's just healing you." He watched the cat at work, watching him paw at her stomach, her face. However, it leaned downwards, towards her mouth, its tongue slightly hanging from its mouth. "Hey!" he demanded. "You _know_ that's not part of the deal. Stick with your treatment, cat!"

The animal hissed at him, then, with its sour disposition, it tenderly pawed at her cheek, almost lovingly. After that, it leapt off her entirely; however, it soon returned, carrying a few herbs in its mouth. It pushed her mouth open and then dropped the herbs inside.

As if by magic, the herbs dissolved, and Arala felt no pain… just like she had three years back.

"Aww," she cooed, fondling the black cat's thick fur. It rubbed against her arm, purring happily. She looked up at the mysterious boy, and questioned, "What's its name?"

Zainem laughed, but Arala could see a sour note in it; a note that she had not heard a few years back. "That there cat?" he drawled, imitating Yarmet's uneducated accent. "That cat, m'dear, that yer petting—" here he stopped to clear his throat— "is none other'n Yarmet 'imself." He cleared his throat again. "Yarmet, one'a tha most _stupidest_, unsanitamatary creetures to face this realm."

The cat hissed. Arala voiced the same hostility. "That was _not _nice, _Zainem_!" Then, she paused. "Wait," she considered, "Yarmet's a cat?"

The cat mewed softly, then, much to the girl's surprise, cleared its throat and began to speak, in Yarmet's familiar voice. "Yeah, Arala, 'm a cat. But you shouldn't be worried 'bout all 'a that. You'd, ah, muck things up."

The witch scratched Yarmet behind his ears. "Can't I help?"

The cat licked his paw tentatively. "Well, I guess I can't do much ta force ya inta things… or outta things, fer that matter. But I don't wan' you ta get inta trouble."

Zainem jumped in, offering, "Well, we do support your free will, Ara." Arala didn't know what to make of his sudden nickname for her, but she decided to just go with it.

She shook her long hair back and explained, "I want to help you, Zane. I want to help you help Yarmet."

Zane pondered this. "Well… there is one thing you can do."

"What?"

"Well, there's a disturbance among the angelic realm…"

Arala pulled her square communicator out of her pocket. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered through to Zainem.

"Uh-huh," he nodded, smiling at her. "Go on. You'll be wonderful."

She sighed under her breath, then took up her scissors. With shaking hands, she sliced, watching the clumps of her hair fall to the ground. It felt like a piece of her fell out as well. _"Your hair's going to give you away,"_ he had told her.

"Great," he clapped. "Now, for the colouration process. You remember, right?"

The witch sighed. "Yeah." She then closed her eyes and chanted an ominous-sounding mantra, most of it in a foreign language. A burning pain filled her eyes and her now-throbbing death source.

A small chuckle could be heard, but another sour note arose in it. "It'll burn for a bit, Ara," he explained. "But it's okay. Now you have black hair and blue eyes. An odd combination, but it works."

She looked at herself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. She donned the black veil that she had been given, then glared at the mirror. If she was going to help, she'd have to deal with a bit of identity loss. She cleared her throat. "My name is Arala," she told the mirror. She frowned. It was too stiff. "My name is Arala," she tried again.

"Very good," Zainem noted. "Now, pick up the communicator and get out there."

She nodded, nervous again. "Here I go," she whispered to herself, hesitantly pushing the door open.

A suspicious voice startled her. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

She cleared her throat. "I'm looking for the leader of the black market," she explained in a harsh whisper.

"Uhm, I don't not know nothing about no black market," the teen frowned, as if his explanation wasn't not not unhelpful.

"Cute," Arala hissed. "Quadruple negative. Who'd you learn that from, hmm?"

The boy was speechless. He opened and closed his mouth in complete and utter shock.

The girl's expression softened slightly. "My name is Arala. I'd like to become one of you. One of the Ravens." She was so glad that Zainem had given her a lesson on this market. "What's your name?"

"Tony Barde," he smiled. Then, he frowned contemplatively. "Um, you'll have to speak with Crow before you become one of us. Here, I'll take you to him."

"Thank you," the girl nodded, curtsying politely at him.

He laughed. "Arala, you act just like my sister. She's real prim and proper, but she's beginning to loosen up a little bit. Just a little, though."

The witch shrugged. "I've been taught this way of behaviour." Which was true; the witches and warlocks sported very good posture and mannerisms. This was apparently why she was perfect for being undercover: they were very good actors and actresses.

Tony grinned. "Don't worry, we'll soon rough you up!"

Arala laughed softly. However, her amusement soon turned to astonishment as she viewed the marketplace. Her eyes lit up at all the goods offered.

Suddenly, a crackling noise reached her ears. _The communicator! _Quickly, she mumbled, "I'm sorry, something's come up," and rushed a few steps away. Then, something darted towards her…

"Yarmet!" she whispered gleefully, holding her arms out to the black cat. He leapt into her arms, then mewed worriedly.

Suddenly, she heard the enraged growl of a monster, as well as its thundering footsteps. It gasped and snarled, with a metallic quality grating the ears of all who listened. "Get back here, ya stupid cat!"

Yarmet whined insistently. "Talk, Yarmet!" she worriedly whispered into his fur. His only response was a sickly gasp.

"Can't you talk anymore?" Arala screeched. The cat looked up into her eyes, and sadly shook its head.

"Where ya at, idiot?" The footsteps came closer. Then, around the corner came…

Zainem?

It was disgusting, like a giant mutated version of him. Shimmering yellow wings sprouted from his back, but they were not beautiful, like angels' wings. They were twisted and grotesque, casting a black shadow over the whole marketplace. His eyes, usually calm as a warm summer afternoon, were now as troubled and violent as the rocking sea. They gave off a rusted, metallic look, the colour of burnt amber.

"Z-Zainem?" the girl exclaimed in fear, unable to tear her eyes away from the gargantuan entity, unable to believe that it was her friend.

It stared at her for a short moment, then it shrunk. Into Zainem.

"Uh, er…" he stammered, unable to find a reasonable explanation for his behaviour. "Um, twin brother Meniaz?" he chuckled.

His easygoing nature made her giggle. It was just impossible not to. "Anger management?" she questioned him, smiling, as if she were saying, "Don't worry, I won't judge you."

"Yeah." His voice was ashamed.

"I think it's so cute that you worry so much about Yarmet. But don't worry. I can take care of him," the girl offered. "You can go cool off."

The boy seemed unsure. "Um, just for a little while. And I'll be watching." Now directing his attention to the cat, he made a variety of hand gestures, ending the charade with a thumbs-up. _How adorable, _Arala couldn't help but think. _They're such good friends._ "See you on the other side!" his departing figure called out to the duo.

The forgotten Tony walked up to Arala. "What an adorable cat!" he exclaimed. "Is he yours? Can I pet him?"

"Sure," the confused girl mumbled. She heard Zainem's voice through the communicator attached to her ear. "Humans can't see things from other realms if they aren't wearing something from the earthen realm. Since the idiot looks like a cat, an earthen animal, I suppose they can see it."

"Zane?"

"Yeah?" came the quick response.

"My name's Tony," the boy replied, mystified.

She ignored this. "Why can't he talk anymore?"

Zainem shrugged this off. "Probably because he's in the earthen realm? I don't know."

The Raven waved his hands in front of her face. "Hello? I can talk just fine!"

The boy warned, "Don't let them think you're rich. And don't talk to me anymore. It'll be fine; I'll see you soon, Ara. Okay?"

She did not respond.

"See, you're absolutely perfect, Ara!" he clapped. This invoked nothing but a small smile. She now turned her attention to the perplexed human.

"Are… you okay?" he asked nervously.

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "Just a little out of sorts."

The boy nodded knowingly. "The night shifts here are hell on earth," he informed her. "I had one last night. Did you have a late night too?"

"Yeah," she lied. "I had to keep watch."

"Poor you," he commented. "Sometimes I talk to things that aren't really there after one of these shifts. What were you keeping watch over?"

She had to think fast. "Yarmet here," she blurted, raising her arms, upon which Yarmet was peacefully perched.

"Yarmet's an interesting name," he speculated. "Why'd you call him that?"

_Can you do me a favour and stop thinking? _"Um, cats like yarn, and my brother's name was Matthew. So his name was originally Yarmat, but my parents felt bad about it, so I called him Yarmet."

"Why'd they feel bad?"

_Ghouls, he's good. _"Water," she whispered under her breath. Just as she predetermined, hot, salty water began to well up in her eyes. "It's too painful to talk about," she whimpered. _But I can be better,_ she thought evilly.

Tony went silent, as if to acknowledge her "brother", wherever he was. He was even reluctant to muster, "Just climb down this ladder and go straight." With that, he waved goodbye and left.

Arala looked at the ladder. She looked at Yarmet, cuddled in her arms. She looked left. She looked right. No one was there. She closed her eyes, concentrating, then gently floated down the shaft. When she opened her eyes, she saw a narrow path. It would have been expected to see a slimy, slippery floor, but it was surprisingly clean. She supposed that one of the black market people cleaned it every now and again. Her shoes, as they thudded against the stony floor, made a sharp noise, which reverberated around the passage.

Then, she saw _him_.

He was a short, brusque man. He sported a suit, and had wrinkles in all the wrong places. His tiny glasses were clouded with dust. His mouth was giant, and, every now and again, he'd let loose a long bellow of a yawn. Arala stood there for a minute, debating whether or not this grotesque being rivaled Zainem's alternate form. After a look at his mouth, which consisted of a few straggling teeth, all of which were brown and crooked, she decided very quickly that these earthen beings were absolutely _disgusting_, and yes, this particular one surpassed even Zainem in the ugliness ranks.

The girl quickly strode past him, coolly and confidently, and pushed open the large, heavy door, stepping into what she supposed was the auction room.

The first thing that caught her eye was the stage, grand and large. The second thing that caught her eye was a small crack in the curtains, through which light shone. So, Arala fixed her dress nervously, then, with Yarmet in tow, floated onto the stage, drew the scarlet curtains back, and boldly announced, "I'm looking for the leader of this establishment!"

A flourish of curtains were heard. _Oh, boy, here come the dramatics._

"What do you want with the Black Raven?" a rather flamboyant character exclaimed proudly. As he emerged, Arala rolled her eyes. _What an absolutely pathetic costume._

She looked him up and down skeptically. "So this is how gullible the earthens are," she muttered.

Her guide's voice crackled through her receiver. She could almost see the malevolent gleam in his eye as he instructed, "Let him have it."

"All right, Mr. 'Black Raven'," she began, crossing her arms. "I'd like to be a part of this establishment. However, I refuse to do business with a phony, much less a phony teenager."

The figure clothed in black was taken aback. "Who're you calling a phony?" he asked, slightly annoyed, his pride wounded.

"Sir, I'm calling _you_ a phony," was her simple comeback. "Now, may we please take this backstage." Without waiting for a response, she brushed past the leader and broke through the scarlet curtains. "Nice place," she commented dryly, looking at the mess before her.

The Black Raven discarded the black robe and mask he was wearing. "How did you know I was a fake?" he demanded.

Arala cleared her throat, ready to strike the pubescent boy with her harsh words. "Well," she began, turning to face him. Her voice trailed off, her mouth opened and closed, her heart thudded in her chest.

"_You have to remember me! Don't trust them; they took you away from me!"_

"_Just remember! There's only one thing I feel for you!"_

…_Love?_

"You…!" was all she managed to choke out, raising a trembling finger to point at him.

He looked at her, suspicious, annoyed, fearful, slightly miffed. Thoughtful. "I suppose we could always use someone with insane observational and inferential skills," he muttered. "What's your name? How old are you?" were his next demands.

"Arala Meniaz," she answered smoothly. "I'm twelve." There was a pause. "Who are you? Have we met?"

"Crow. And I don't believe so. I think I would have remembered you."

She frowned. "How do you feel about me, Crow?"

An awkward moment passed before he answered. "Confused. Mistrusting," he supplied.

"One moment please," she told him. Closing her eyes, she cast, "Confused!" Nothing happened. "Mistrusting!" Still nothing. Then, she turned back to the slightly worried leader. "You must feel something else," she explained.

He shook his head. "Nope."

She held her breath. "Maybe you could help me."

"With what?" His voice was suspicious now.

The girl frowned. "You know who I am. I know you're related to me somehow. And I know that you know my name. I can see you; I can _see_ you there, all the time, telling me to remember." Her voice was now raspy, worried, teary. "You need to tell me my name."

"Isn't it Arala Meniaz?"

"No!" she told him forcefully. "It's _not_!" Then, she saw his fearful face, worried and confused. _No,_ she told herself. _You'll mess everything up if you don't get the job._ "Well, it's complicated. Don't sweat it," she told him.

"Right then," he frowned. "Your first assignment as a Raven is to memorize the locations." He then handed her a list. "Then, meet me at seven-thirty tonight at position six."

"All right," she grinned. "I'll meet you there." _You think you earned free labour? You don't know who you're dealing with, buddy. You're dealing with Arala Meniaz, and she will not back down until she finds the truth._


End file.
